Promises
by Liber Fatum
Summary: George RR Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire Ned Stark made many promises in his life, but this promise made in the illfated Tower of Joy weighed the heaviest in his life. Oneshot.


**PROMISES**

by Liber Fatum

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Disclaimer: I will not even dream of claiming the brain-child of genius that is George RR Martin. I can only offer my expression of worship. 

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**NED**

The heat of battle still lingered in him as blood coursed furiously through his veins. Panting, he lowered his head in a silent salute towards his fallen foes. Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, lay still at his feet, Dawn still grasped in his hands. It could have been him, he realized, as countless other possibilities and what-ifs presented itself to him. Had Howland Reed, the brave little crannogman had not leaped in at the opportune moment; it would have been his broken body lying bloodied on the ground, Ice in his grasp.

They had been seven; seven against three. Yet, out of the ten, only two remained, only him and Howland. A singular voice startled him from his reverie, a low moan from that accursed tower. '_Lyanna!!!' _his mind cried out, as he broke into a run towards the tower stumbling as he did out of sheer exhaustion from the recent battle. Howland Reed stood near the tree, cradling Martyn Cassel's broken body urging him on, "Go quickly, she needs you."

He found her, his sister, lying in a bed of blood. The room reeked from the sickly smell of roses and blood. A woman sat at her bedside, her face haggard and drawn. In her arms, she cradled a baby, newly-born and tiny. He turned to more important matters, however, as he saw his beloved sister fading away, right in front of his eyes.

"Ned, you're here, at last. I have been waiting, waiting for so long," his sister whispered silently, her eyes burning feverishly. His heart went out to her as he choked back his pain.

"It's going to be alright, Lya," he whispered, tears spilling from his eyes, reflecting the overwhelming sorrow he felt. "I'm here. I'll take you to Oldtown. The most skilled masters in the realm are there. You won't die, they won't let you die…_I_ won't let you die," Ned began frantically. "And after that, I'll…" "Hush…" Lya cut in weakly as she placed one hand on his, which clutched her bed sheets tightly. Her other hand, he noted, was clenched tightly in a fist.

"Hush, Ned, and listen to me."

He grew still at her words and looked at her attentively. "He's gone, isn't he?" It wasn't a question. Silence hung oppressively in the air as she released a sigh. "I loved him," she said quietly. "I may have lawfully been Robert's and he, the Princess's, but we felt deeply for each other. He wasn't like them, too, the Targaryens. He…he was gentle, sweet and brave, not at all crazy like Aerys was," she said, desperate words tumbling out quickly as if trying to tell him, to make him understand…to make her feel less guilty for loving the son of the man who burn her father alive and made their brother strangle himself to death.

She let out another sigh. This disconcerted him; Lyanna was never this melancholy. Lya lived life as many a person ought to; she lived life to the fullest. She rode wildly; as many a person pointed out, she rode like a Northman would and would have even carried a sword had their lord father not expressly forbade her to do so. This Lya was like the shadow of her former self; she looked like a candle giving out its last sputter before extinguishing. He immediately berated himself from thinking so. Lya is a fighter; she won't give in so easily and so fast. Besides, giving a side-long glance towards the woman nursing the new-born infant, she won't give in knowing that someone depended on her, needed her.

"Ned," she began after the moment's silence, "you must promise me, promise to take care of him as your own; to protect him. Please protect my son from those who would mean him harm; those schemers who would use him for their own ends…from Robert, from him most of all." This did not surprise him. Grimly, he remembered the children; the little girl and the infant, and Rhaegar's Dornish princess, her lifeless eyes vacant and unseeing, her face forever twisted in an expression of utmost horror.

"I will, Lya. Do not worry about that. Rest, and concentrate on recovering," he said gently. She hissed sharply and grabbed his face, forcing him to stare at her feverish eyes. "Don't take this lightly, Ned. I will never forgive you if you do. I swear I will haunt you 'til your dying day if you do!" she snarled. Even when the illness had wasted her…even though she was distinctly weaker than usual, Lyanna Stark's grip was stronger than most men during their death throes, her gaze sharp. He admired her that.

He shivered. Now was not the time, he berated himself. "I'm dying, Ned," she said softly. He started. "No, I truly am," she said, warding of his protests. "I will leave this world, you, my family…my son, very soon." She reached towards his hands and clutched them tightly.

"Promise me," she whispered. "_Promise me._" There was fear in her eyes now, a fear that cut him deeper than swords to see. "Promise me, Ned… Lord Eddard."

He looked her deep into the eyes and made his decision.

"I promise," he whispered. "Lya, I promise by the Old Gods and the Children, I will keep your son safe."

The fear in her eyes dimmed as he gave her his word. She smiled, the same sweet smile she would smile when he brought her the blue roses he had brought her when he was naught a boy. "Bring me home, Ned. Bring me home. I want to be with father and Brandon."

"I will," he choked, "I will, Lya."

At his reassurances, she relinquished her hold on life and let out her last breath, murmuring a man's name. Her hands slipped from his, rose petals spilling from her palm, dead and black. Lyanna was fond of flowers, he recalled in a daze, especially…blue roses.

He did not know how long he stayed at her side, unmoving and silent. In what seemed like centuries, Howland Reed came to him, gruffly saying, "She's gone, my lord. We have to leave." He was met with a blank wall of grief and sorrow, to which he repeated, this time with more force, "Lord Eddard, we have to go."

Ned lifted his head. Lyanna's silent, unmoving form was still in front of him. The wetnurse was nowhere in sight, as was the baby. This jolted him into reality. Gods! The baby! Lya's child!

"The baby!" Ned cried out in a strangled voice, "where is the baby?! I promised her! I _promised _her!"

"Be at ease, my lord. The child and the wetnurse are below with the horses."

This calmed him a bit. The baby was safe. He turned to the crannogman, "We must lay her to rest here. But, not for long, she will return to Winterfell in due time…but for the moment, here will do." The crannogman nodded in agreement.

"What of the others? The knights of the Kingsguard; Ser Arthur Dayne, Ser Oswell Whent and Ser Gerold Hightower? And the other five who came with us and fell?" asked Ned.

"I took the liberty, my lord. It felt the right thing to do at that moment," Howland answered, not asking for forgiveness or pardon for that. Ned nodded solemnly with approval. He stood up, carrying Lya's body as he did and walked out.

The woman was waiting nearby, her and the baby. Ned spared them only a momentary glance. He had an important task to fulfill first. It was time.

It took awhile, what with only him and the little crannogman, with only their bare hands to use for the lack of shovels. They soon laid her to rest, brave Lyanna. The woman watched silently, her arms holding the child who had not made a sound as they laboured.

When it was done, he walked towards her. The woman had a pretty enough face, he decided, with strong arms, wide hips and most importantly, large breasts. She would need them to feed the child. "What is your name?" he asked her softly.

"Wylla, my lord," she answered deferentially.

"Wylla, you must never speak of the child's parents. You must never even so breathe a word on it. The child's life depends on it."

"My lord," she replied, confused, "I don't understand…"

"That is not required," he cut in coldly, "only that you must remember that his life depends on it. Do you wish his death?"

She shook her head violently.

"Then do as I command," Ned said sternly, "this child is a child born out of wedlock, a bastard." He paused. "He is my bastard. And you are his common-born mother," he said, a bitter smile on his lips.

He turned his stern gaze on her as she quailed and nodded quickly. He turned and walked away. Inwardly, Ned sighed in relief. Wetnurses are all like that, he mused. Though they may not love the children they nurse as much as the children of their body, they still loved them.

He walked towards Howland Reed and looked expectantly at him. The crannogman nodded, "I, too, promise, my lord, to keep this secret." _Good man_, Ned thought silently as he nodded in approval.

"My lord…" the crannogman called out, hefting a large sword in his hands. _Dawn_, Ned thought. The fabled sword of the Daynes, forged from a fallen star. This must be returned, he mused absently. And he would have to contend with Ashara…

He winced inwardly. Ashara Dayne had been the woman he had wanted to marry, had war not broke out. If Brandon had only lived and marry Catelyn Tully like the gods had meant; if only Rhaegar had found a more _honourable_ way of expressing his love for Lya; if only… He cut himself short. Now was not the time to mull over what-ifs or could-have-beens, what's done is done. No man can change the past.

He would have to be the one to carry her brother's sword back, to break to her the news. It was only….honourable to do so. He is of the North, and he will perform his duties as befits one of the North.

Holding Dawn in one arm, he walked over to the woman and the child. The woman….her name was Wylla, he reminded himself…started as she saw him stood near, eyes wide open with fear. He silently rebuked himself his harsh demeanor before.

"Wylla," he began gently, his eyes softening, "forgive me my abruptness before. Grief made me blind and cold to the world." Eyes widening further, she smiled shyly in understanding. "Wylla, may I see the child?" Ned asked. She agreed, parting the cloth which shielded the infant from the world.

Ned saw the North.

He saw within the child; Lyanna, himself, the Starks. His eyes, tightly shut a moment ago were now open, and Ned saw eyes a grey so dark they seemed almost black. _Stark eyes,_ he thought silently, shivering. Even the child's face was of the North; in time, the face would be long and solemn. _His sire had left little of himself in this one. _Yet, the blood that run through his veins are the blood of the dragonkings, Targaryen blood. The child, no matter how North he looks, is born with blood of fire, with the destiny of fire.

He resolved to change that; the child's fate. The fact that the child looks nothing like his sire had made his task all the more easier. He shuddered at the thought of convincing Robert that the child with silver-gold hair and purple eyes was his bastard-born son. Hell, Robert might not even believe that he _had_ sired a bastard, much less one who looks so Targaryen.

So he thanked the Gods for this least a fortune. _It could have been worse_. Dawn clattered to his feet as he reached to hold the boy. He gazed into the child's eyes, the child cooing as he did, though not smiling…no, a Stark does not smile nor laugh easily. In the North, it is said that it grows so cold in winter that a man's laugh freezes in his throat and chokes him to death. Therefore, those of the North knew better than to be foolish.

It was too much.

Ned laughed. A ringing sound filled the placed as he laughed and laughed and laughed.

"Jon Snow, my son. You have so little of your mother in you, and so much of me. You have the Stark look…you do."

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_-"…read so much, Jon Snow." The boy absorbed that all in silence. He had the Stark face if not the name: long, solemn, guarded, a face that gave nothing away. Whoever his mother had been, she had left little of herself in her son. _**– excerpt from A Game of Thrones from Tyrion Lannister's point of view.**

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A/N: This is my effort to show my complete and undying support that R+LJ. Heehee, the ending was quite retarded, but hey, I did try my best, _and_ this story is also unbetaed. Though I did read through it, still expect some mistakes. Please review. If you do, I might consider writing more fics.


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